


No Blizzard That There Is or Was

by Selkit



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alphabet Meme, Character Study, F/M, Gen, Rating May Change, Sister-Sister Relationship, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkit/pseuds/Selkit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elsa's past, present, and future, one letter at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Always

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if alphabet fics are a thing in Frozen fandom, but in some of my other fandoms they're a popular form of character study. The premise is simple: pick a character and write twenty-six snapshots of that character's life, one for every letter of the alphabet.
> 
> Since these ficlets will be posted in alphabetical order rather than chronological, they'll likely jump all over the place time-wise, and may take place before, during, or after the film itself.

Elsa hears her sister before she sees her.

( _Well, of course_ , she thinks, tentative affection spreading in her chest, its warmth as delicate as a butterfly's wings. _She wouldn't be Anna otherwise._ )

She pauses, listening as the footsteps come pounding down the hall outside her room, a thundering gallop that slows to a patter before stopping altogether. A moment of silence reigns before the familiar knock rings out, _tap, tap, tap-tap tap,_ and Elsa sinks her teeth into her bottom lip.

"Um, Elsa? Are you in there?" 

She can hear the confusion and slow-growing dread lacing her sister's voice, and she starts for the closed door, her nails turning to icicles against her bare palms. On the other side of the divide, Anna begins to babble, unsteady words pouring out of her like water from an upended jug.

"You said I should come see you this afternoon, remember? But your door's, well, closed. Again. But you know that, obviously. Assuming you _are_ actually in there—" 

"I—" Elsa says, but the sensation of responding to her sister's call is so unfamiliar, so _foreign_ that she chokes on the words. Her heart skitters like an untamed colt, her tongue tangling and stuttering, and she takes a moment to remember how to breathe.

_It's all right,_ she tells herself, closing her eyes, reaching for calm. _A lifetime's habits can't be unlearned in a few days. Give yourself time._

"I'm here, Anna," she tries again. Her voice is a hesitant warble to her ears, but it's no longer thirteen years of stony silence, and that's a step forward. She closes the distance to the door and wraps her fingers around the handle, half-expecting frosty tendrils to mar the gold-plated surface. 

But they don't, and it's another small victory. 

She cracks the door open an inch, then two, then finally swallows and pulls it all the way open to reveal her sister's delighted face.

"Ooooh!" Anna bounces in place, hands clasped in front of her mouth, shining eyes bright as sunlight glinting off ice. "You actually opened it! Can I—can I come in?"

"I invited you, didn't I?" Elsa steps back and smiles, letting her fingers twine at her waist as Anna moves forward. She puts one foot over the threshold, then the other, stepping carefully as though she expects an enormous snowman to grab her by the scruff of the neck and shake her back to reality. 

_Not an unrealistic fear,_ Elsa realizes with a wince. Her eyes slip closed as guilt prickles over her skin, raising goosebumps like the cold never can, and she tries to push it away.

_Anna. Concentrate on Anna. Leave the past in the past._

"Whoa," she hears Anna mutter, and she opens her eyes.

Her sister is turning in a slow, measured circle, eyes bugging as she takes in the room for the first time in over a decade. She flings a hand up, pointing to where the wall meets the ceiling, and Elsa's eyes follow the movement. Old frost burns and water stains interrupt the delicate patterns, stretching up and down the wall like splayed fingers clawing for purchase. At the edges, the wallpaper twists and frays in brittle curls from years of freezing, thawing, and freezing again.

"Your powers did that?" Anna's voice is hushed. "And that? And that?"

There's no judgment in her tone, but Elsa tenses anyway. Her fingers clasp and weave together, thumbnail scratching lines in the crease of her palms. "Yes," she says. "Mother and Father used to have the damage repaired when they were still alive, but after..."

She swallows, feels the cold settling down in the hollow of her stomach and spreading across her fingertips in tiny ice spirals as sheer as spider-silk. She digs her bare toes against the floor and pulls the magic back in, fixing her eyes on Anna's face. Her sister's brow is furrowed, her mouth a downturned pucker.

"I can't believe..." Anna stops, still blinking at the damaged walls. "I mean, you've had the powers all this time, right? Like ever since you were born?" 

Elsa dips her head, tries a smile. "Yeah. Always."

"And I never knew. I was _right down the hall_ and never knew. For years! I mean, you'd think I would have noticed the chill coming from your room, if nothing else."

"It's not your fault." Elsa reaches out to take her sister's arm, but doesn't quite make it before her fingers falter, brushing against Anna's shoulder instead. "I had a lot of practice at _conceal, don't feel._ "

"Conceal, don't—" Anna breaks off, shaking her head violently enough to make her braids lash the air. She reaches up to grab Elsa's hand, gripping her fingers hard, and Elsa's breath catches at the sheer heat blazing in her sister's palm.

"I want to help," Anna says, her chin jutting out in the grown-up rendition of that determined stubborn look Elsa remembers so well from their childhood playtime sessions. "If you've always had this power, you're probably always gonna have it, right? So..." She tugs Elsa's hand, pulling her further into the room. "Make something for me? Could be anything, even just something little. Please? I mean, if you want. You don't _have_ to, obviously, if you don't feel—but—well, I just thought—this room could use some happy memories, you know?"

Elsa laughs, and it's the best thing she's felt since she watched the thick sheets of snow disappearing from Arendelle's streets. "How does a snowman sound?" she asks.

Anna's beaming grin is all the answer she needs. She stretches out her hand, takes a deep breath, and lets the flurry come.


	2. B is for Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was already planning to use "birthday" for the B chapter, but when the news about the "Frozen Fever" short broke, I decided to modify my plans and write my own take on what (very little!) info we know about the short so far.

"No, you don’t understand. It has to be _perfect._ ”

Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle, The First of Her Name, and a whole bunch of other titles Kristoff wouldn’t remember even if trolls implanted them directly into his brain, was standing at the head of an enormous sprawling table with both hands firmly planted on its surface. Kristoff took a moment to clear his throat as quietly as he could, thanking every deity he could think of—including the ones he didn’t believe in—that her glare was directed at the papers spread under her hands instead of at him. 

"Um. Okay," he said, then mentally slapped himself for coming out with the blandest, least helpful response imaginable. Though Elsa had never treated him with anything less than impeccable (if slightly chilled) politeness, he’d always had the uncomfortable suspicion she viewed him as little more than a drooling caveman. 

Okay, maybe not drooling. But still. She was bona-fide, raised-in-a-palace _royalty_ , who knew protocol and diplomacy and how to use all of the dozens of silverware pieces that accompanied each and every meal. She literally _glistened_ with every perfect, controlled step, her posture elegant, her movements grace personified. And he was some random raggedy urchin who had been raised by trolls.

And now she was looking at him.

He gave a blistering internal curse.

"Well, um," he said. "I gotta say, I don’t know a whole lot about perfection. But…I don’t think Anna really does either. I mean, that’s part of what makes her so great. She’s not afraid to, y’know, be goofy and clumsy and…"

He trailed off, the words backing up and getting clogged in his throat, and he could feel his face heating enough to set off a Great Thaw of its own. _Nice going, genius,_ he thought. _Start rambling to your perfect future sister-in-law about how great you think imperfection is. Really smooth._

“What I’m trying to say is,” he plowed on, “I don’t think Anna will mind if her birthday isn’t one hundred percent perfect. If something went wrong, I think she would just laugh it off and carry on with the celebrating. And she definitely wouldn’t blame you. I mean, she’s completely crazy about you. You know, in a sisterly way.”

Elsa’s face softened into a smile, smoothing out the anxious little crease between her brows, and Kristoff felt some of the tension leave his shoulders for the first time in at least an hour.

"I know," she said, her voice quiet enough that for a moment he wasn’t sure she was even talking to him. "You’re right, she won’t mind if it isn’t perfect."

She straightened, and her eyes lost their focus, drifting off to the room’s far corner. She drew her hands up like marionettes on strings, settling them at her waist, her thumbs circling each other in a restless, ceaseless loop. “But I will.”

"I get that," Kristoff said, hoping he didn’t sound too dubious. "I just don’t think Anna would want you stressing yourself out on her account. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s the _last_ thing she would want.”

"I’m not—" Elsa raised one hand, index finger coming dangerously close to leveling at him before she thought better of it. He watched her swallow, exhale, and consciously bring her hand back to her side. "All right, I take your point. I’ll trust you to let me know if you think I’m getting overstressed on account of this party business. I just…I want to make up for all her birthdays I missed. I remember…"

Her face tightened, the past settling over her like a mantle, and Kristoff swore he could hear ice crackling between her knuckles as her fists balled. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

Kristoff took a deep breath. _Probably gonna regret this._

"You can tell me about it," he said. "You know, if you want. I may not be the smoothest talker, but I am a pretty good listener when I put my mind to it."

Elsa raised her head and watched him for a long moment, long enough to make sweat dampen his collar, his mind beginning to cast around for escape routes—

—And then she smiled, sad and gentle. It made him think of snow just starting to melt as winter gave way to spring, when he and Sven would normally retreat further into the mountains in search of thicker ice.

_No retreating this time._

"I was just remembering all of Anna’s birthdays after the accident," Elsa said. Her voice was low, the words labored. "I always sat pressed up against my door, listening, as close as I could get to the party. I could hear little snatches of noise here and there—music, laughter, Anna squealing while she opened her presents." She sighed, her eyes flickering closed. "I would still be sitting there, ear to the door, when Anna would come and try to convince me to join everyone. One year she even offered to give me some of her presents if I would just come out and eat a piece of cake with her. She was so selfless, even back then."

She looked back down at the neat sheaf of party plans. Each sheet was perfectly aligned with the table’s edge, but she reached down to adjust them anyway, smoothing out the paper’s creases. 

"I know I can’t do anything to bring back all those lost years," she said. Her voice was thick with regret, yet tinged with the beginnings of acceptance. "But I want to do all I can to make it up to her now."

"Well," Kristoff said. He took a step forward, then another, until finally he was close enough to look down at Elsa’s elegant script on the papers. "Guess we’d better get going on the planning, then."

He risked a glance at Elsa out of the corner of his eye, close as he was. This time her smile was open, lighting her eyes, and for a moment she was no longer the perfect queen, but simply Anna’s beloved sister.

"Yes," she said. "We should."


End file.
